


mִt'ealֵm

by cecilcb



Series: space but on ice [1]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek - Various Authors
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Skating, M/M, Other Characters Are Mentioned But Don't Play Big Roles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 15:49:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19429153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cecilcb/pseuds/cecilcb
Summary: A year after Jim Kirk makes his way out to San Francisco from Iowa with a dramatic coaching change, he ends up head over heels for the next new skater to be taken on by his coach. The catch? Jim is a pretty solid 70% sure that he's rather dramatically hated.





	mִt'ealֵm

**Author's Note:**

> aka the figure skating au that doesn't entirely revolve around figure skating that just about nobody asked for
> 
> was going to be made into multiple chapters, and then i ended up writing it for the 2019 Star Trek Pride fanwork exchange so yeehaw, this is made for tumblr user isenfyre
> 
> on that note, it was also going to be a lot more showing than telling, but then for compression purposes to fit the time frame, it became a told story, oops. my 10th grade english teacher would be disappointed, but like, that's for her to worry about. it's a few too many years late for her to critique this.
> 
> also, i typically never write from jim's pov, so apologies for the more erratic nature of the writing.
> 
> and, one more final thing, this was absolutely not beta read and is being posted three seconds after i finished writing it, so if you find any errors and want to point them out to me, feel free. i encourage it. especially since my spell check on google docs is litcherally broken.

EPILOGUE  
The third time’s the charm.

It’s a common enough phrase denoting successful results on a third attempt. And for most people, this result is that which was hoped for - unfortunately, when James T. Kirk is involved, where he’d love to not fit himself into the cliched “he is not most people”, at the moment, the third time really is the charm, and not in the good way. No, as his hip makes the _third_ hard collision with the ice beneath him, promising a third dark mark across his body, there’s definitely a result to come from it, and it sure is successful in bringing about a few things: the new necessity of body icing, searing embarrassment colouring his face even more than the cold air, and failure.

Momentum allows Jim to bring himself back up to his feet again, but it doesn’t chase away the heaviness that follows falling on his third jumping pass, under-rotation aiding in his slipping on his edge trying to catch the bad landing. He can’t let it slow him down, let alone stop him, yet he won’t be surprised if he sees something lackluster on the playback screen. He can try to keep up face, but really, there’s only so much he can do as what started as a dull ache spread across half of his body, compounded by the knowledge that he’s just eaten shit on TV and broadcasted live streams worldwide.

Basically, every part of his hurts, and he has to pretend that it doesn’t. Which is really difficult.

There’s a part of Jim that’s surprised he doesn’t slip on his step sequence because that’s just the sort of day he’s having today, the one where even the most basic footwork sends him across the ice just so that every part of him can touch about half of the ground beneath him. But, be it due to some miracle or otherwise, he manages to keep himself upright, on his feet - foot - makes it through to the end, his final spin sequence. Tired and aching, he finishes, head held high when every part of him feels weighted. 

He doesn’t smile, can’t bring himself to do anything other than grimace as applause rings through his ears. Even with such stark failure, people clap, it’s polite, but at the moment, it’s also unwanted, unwarranted. 

His coach, Garrovick, meets him at the edge of the rink, lips drawn together in what’s meant to be a reassuring smile. It isn’t reassuring, but Jim matches it as he steps off the ice, reaching for his blade guards. Garrovick gives him a firm clap on the shoulder, the grip much more firm than the sad way he says, “You did good, kid.” Jim nods his head in acknowledgment.

They both know he didn’t do good, and neither will say it; not now, at least, as exhaustion creeps in on Jim, the last of his adrenaline wearing off when he sits down in the kiss and cry booth, what was before an ache pushed to the back of the mind coming full force into pain across his hip, his butt, his knee, his neck, his back - hell, even his head hurts right now. And isn’t there some sort of sick irony that he’s going to be icing his body for days after this just to deal with the havoc that falling at high speeds onto the ice leaves on his body. Some part of Jim's brain helpfully tells him that he is just turned seventeen, which means that he should not currently be feeling like he has lived an entire lifetime of being just a little too rough with himself.

Another part reminds him that, no, he’s just lived fourteen years of his life doing something he loves, and it just so happens that what he loves can easily leave him with near full body bruises on the regular, for even the stupidest of mistakes. Yeah, it’s going to take a few days for his body to not look like he’s some mixed alien-human hybrid, but nothing is broken, nothing has been broken before, and all is good, albeit a bit sore.

And his ego has taken a bit of a blow, which does absolute wonders on his general anxiety, but such is life. It is what it is, even when it isn’t what’s idealized. That’s okay.

It’s okay.

That’s what Jim tells himself at least, what he thinks so that when the cameras are back on him, he isn’t a miserable mess. He throws a small smile, one that doesn’t reach his eyes, with a half-hearted wave. There’s no use sitting and looking like he’s already been beaten without even seeing his score, though it’s not exactly like he needs to see it to know the outcome of disaster.

“Whatever is shown up there, it’s okay.” Garrovick’s voice breaks through the nervous haze that’s taken over Jim's mind, causing him to draw himself up from a slouch he wasn’t even entirely aware he had slipped into. “You had a rough day, it’s a rough skate, but that’s okay. You worked hard, you skated your best, you got through it. It happens.”

The words are kind, genuine, so Jim doesn’t mention that, if this was his best, then he should just retire now. Instead, he nods, eyes looking to a blank screen waiting for a too-low number to read out. And when it does, 70.68 a glaring decrease from his normal in the 80s, he can feel his shoulders drop, just a little.

Another attempt at a smile, a small bow of his head, and Jim leaves the kiss and cry, avoiding as many people and cameras as possible. Garrovick doesn’t follow him for long, letting him trail off alone after a brief pat on the back.

Deep breaths. Jim needs to take deep breaths. And he does, but the task is more difficult in action than in mind, and he’s just made it backstage before he slips against a wall, falling to the ground, finally letting his body release all the tension it was holding, continuing the deep breaths. What’s done is done, he tells himself. There’s no need to get worked up over it now, there’s no changing the past, only moving on.

Jim's head hits the walls, eyes turning up to stare at the too bright lights at the ceiling. They hurt, but the pain is enough to give him a little distraction, tracking the patterns stuck in his eyes as he moves them around, down the walls, and back to the lights. He isn’t necessarily calming down with the actions, but also he isn’t getting any more worked up, so he lets himself sit here, moving his head and eyes minisculely, taking in everything around him to try and keep himself from going over the edge and breaking down while there are still other people moving around him.

It takes some time, but eventually Jim can lift himself back up to his feet, still leaning against the wall, looking at the mostly empty room around him now. There’s five other people left, other than him. Two coaches and three skaters, all more successful than he’s ever been, even on the junior track. Eyes drawn to the floor, he makes quick work of walking around the room, heading for a door to leave.

He almost makes it too, before there’s a brief touch to his shoulder that draws his attention away from the one-mindedness of escaping. Jim turns around abruptly, expecting to maybe see Garrovick again - which wouldn’t make the most sense considering he thought that his coach had gone off somewhere else, but he’s been known to be persistent with Jim - so he’s thrown off guard when he sees one of the coaches had come up to him. Christopher Pike, who, just a few moments ago, was actively engaged in discussion with one of the final skaters left.

His first instinct is to be rude, to brush him off so that he can go sulk in true peace, but the other man’s face is open, kind, and Jim doesn’t have it within himself to actually play out how he’s feeling inside. “Uh, hi.” That doesn’t detract from the fact that this is _Christopher Pike_ , world renowned Olympic medallist turned coach, who now works with a top-of-the-line international skating club as a head coach of a large section of world class skaters who don’t eat shit at world championships like Jim just did less than an hour ago. He has no idea how he’s supposed to talk to him. “Sorry, can I help you?”

“You looked a little bummed out back there,” Christopher says, and immediately Jim can feel his face flushing. Of course he shouldn’t be surprised people saw him just sitting there considering it’s far from a room private just for himself, but it doesn’t help to be called out on it. “I just wanted to let you know that we all have rough days. Shit happens. It’s best to give yourself some time and space to get back up again. You may not have done too good today, but there’s always tomorrow. Just keep looking ahead.”

And of course he probably saw all the times his ass connected with the ice with the small TV linked to this room. Even better. Christopher Pike saw him, James T. Kirk, make an arena dull with unsure applause and winces. That’s just great. Jim can’t think of anything to really say, can’t even smile, his entire mind is alight with shame. This is really just great, so amazingly great-

“I wouldn’t be adverse to maybe taking you on if you’re looking for a change in scenery,” Christopher continues as if Jim isn’t busy dying of mortification in front of him. Which, actually, as Jim turns to look at a small card being held out to him, he feels his face cool down a little. “You’ve got potential, kid. I’d like to help expand upon it.”  
PART 1  
The fourth of July marks a year since Jim has been in San Francisco, one year since he relocated from Iowa to California chasing a dream that, at the time, seemed near impossible to catch. A few months after placing sixteenth at worlds, a far cry better than the previous year’s twenty-eigth after fighting for a place in the competition. Suddenly, the dream doesn’t seem so far away,

Jim wakes up early to the sunlight coming through curtains he forgot to close the night before. He’s not upset about it, despite the groginess he feels at the unwelcome brightness assaulting his eyes; when he goes to close the curtains, it’s so that he can get ready for the day with as much privacy as possible in a shared apartment where he doesn’t have the master bedroom.

Twenty minutes after going into the bathroom, he emerges, shirt wet around the collar from his hair. He makes quick work of dropping his dirty clothes onto his bedroom floor before going out to the kitchen.

The hallways and kitchen are empty, unsurprising considering that it’s not even seven o’clock. Rarely, if ever, is Sylvia - well, Tilly, as she insists to be called, saying she just doesn’t connect with her first name - awake before seven, sometimes sleeping in until eight when she’s given the chance. Jim, for one, can’t entirely blame her.

Breakfast is two eggs and a slice of toast eaten as he scrolls through his phone, swiping notifications and responding where needed.

Nearing the end, his eye is caught on something sent late in the night, sent last second by the sound of it. A reminder that Christopher wanted to bring someone else onto the private time Jim had reserved. Well, Christopher says it’s a reminder, but Jim doesn’t remember being told about it before this message. And shit, that’s pretty much right as he was getting to the rink that he had that time set aside, early morning for a reason. A little actual warning would have been nice, but it’s also too late to ask if another time would be possible.

Well, he’ll just have to deal with sharing the ice with the new guy from Israel, he supposes. It’s not like the rink isn’t large enough, just that it is slightly frustrating to have such last second warning. Jim finishes eating fast before gathering his stuff to leave. Last second, he leaves a note for Tilly, letting her know he went into the rink a little earlier than expected.

Jim isn’t the first person in the rink. As he makes his way to the locker rooms, he passes a few workers mingling about and sees Philippa in the other rink with two girls on the ice, along with two other people he can barely see tucked away behind the boards. 

The ice is smooth when Jim steps onto it, nobody having touched it since it was cut the night before. For the small time that he has alone, he allows himself to melt into mindless actions of warming up - edgework, stroking, simple spins - only the sound of his own movements filling the air and his ears. The early morning hour isn’t noticeable from here, forgotten in the artificial lighting, the rythm of his motions as lulling as a car ride to a child.

All concetration is broken when Jim hears a door opening along the boards, all movements stopping so can turn to the source of the noise. He sees Christopher standing on the other side, talking to another man who just stepped onto the ice. Jim can only see the back of the other man’s head, but it’s enough to make a dumb grin break onto his face.

He has a bowl cut. 

Jim’s about ready to make his way over to them so he can introduce himself, but as soon as he sets himself in motion, the other man is pushing away from the boards to do exactly what Jim just finished with. He’s slightly disappointed, he must admit, but pushes to make sure that he catches the other man when he takes a break.

Until then, Jim moves towards the center parts of the rink, catching eyes with Christopher. Since he’s not completely alone anymore without anyone to really monitor him, he might as well work on jumps for a little while, both wake himself up and put himself right back to sleep.

An hour and a half later, Jim takes his leave. Generally, he’d stay until Christopher called him off, but considering Christopher wasn’t even supposed to be here for this first bit and that he’s not really giving Jim too much attention beyond the two times he took some harder falls, he isn’t about to wait around. His body and feet are reaching points that say to take a break now, or regret life even more than usual later.

When he sits down to loosen his skates, Jim can hear the new guy being called off, Christopher’s voice approaching Jim. By the time his skates are slipped off of his feet, he can feel his coach standing over him. He doesn’t say anything, so Jim doesn’t say anything, trying to relax the tense muscles in his body and ignore the way he can feel his knee throbbing a bit more than he really cares for.

Jim almost misses the way someone else sits down next to him with how caught up he is in a failed attempt at willing pain away. Not to mention the way the man sits down smoothly in one motion, the bench barely shifting under his weight. A far cry from the reaction when Jim flops down onto it.

It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is next to him. Jim puts on his biggest smile before turning to the left. “James T. Kirk,” he says, holding up a hand in hello. He gets a slow blink in response, black eyes - and wow, it’s been a while since he’s seen eyes dark enough to actually label them as black - turning to look directly at him. Okay. “People call me Jim, though.”

“S’chn T’gai Spock,” the other man says after a moment. Jim’s mind wraps itself quickly around the name, the way he pronounces it. He’s seen the other man before on a few international competitions, but, as it turns out, he’s apparently never heard it pronounced correctly. “Most people find it easier to just call me Spock.” He speaks in a monotonous tone, accent decidingly not Russian. Which shouldn’t actually be a surprise given his name, but with the Israeli skating team’s composition of ‘pretty much everyone is of Russian or Slavik origin’, Jim can’t say he wasn’t expecting it.

Not sure what else to really say, Jim takes in more of what Spock looks like beyond charcoal eyes and a bowl cut. Perhaps a wrong move with the way that only thing his mind can helpfully supply him with is a dramatic ‘oh no, he’s hot’ at the sight of the full flushed face, lips slightly parted, body almost awkwardly lanky. And, well, he is hot. However, that’s not really helpful in the department of trying to move what’s becoming an awkward introduction along.

Mind running on blank, Jim lets himself run a bit on autopilot with minimal screening so that he doesn’t just profess his attraction to Spock on the immediate spot, Christopher still lingering nearby. “So, welcome to STC, and San Francisco,” Jim says, rather stupidly if he may add. “Where did you train before this?”

“Oakland.” Okay, so maybe there’s no need for the welcome to San Francisco. Huh.

Jim fidgets for a moment. Deciding that perhaps looking at Spock - who, by the way, the more he looks at, the more attractive he gets, tall and lean and honestly, that bowl cut Jim wanted to laugh at before is starting to actually look a little cute with the way it frames his face that has maybe too big eyes - it’s not very productive in any way. He has a small bag right there at his side, so he reaches for it to grab his water bottle, only to find it’s empty. Blessedly empty.

Jim stands up quickly, shaking the bottle as an explanation as to just where he’s going, and walks off, socks soaking up excess water on the floor. He doesn’t care, his mind is running a blank sitting next to a cute boy that he can’t even make proper conversation with.

The hallway with the refill station is blessedly empty.

While it’s only a few moments that he’s offered respite, it’s enough for Him to collect himself on some level. He clears his mind of all that he deems to be unnecessary feelings and goes back to where Christopher and Spock still are. At nineteen years old, he can control himself more than a lovestruck sixteen year old who just had their hand held for the first time.

Well, he at least knows to perhaps remove himself from the situation if he’s struggling with such control. “Hey, Christopher,” Jim calls out as he approaches the two sitting figures in the lower stands. “You mind if I go sit in your office for a little until I go back out? My ass is kinda hurting on these chairs, what with the way that I seem to have some sort of ice magnet in it.”

The comment gets a laugh out of Christopher, who waves his has in the air. “Yeah yeah, go ahead,” he says, turning around. “We may join you soon, I don’t know yet.” Hopefully they won’t. Jim smiles and gives his thanks, reaching to grab his phone before walking away, still nothing but socks on his feet.

Jim spends the rest of his break curled up on a couch, scrolling through his phone, making plans with Tilly yo go out tomorrow night. One of her friend’s - girlfriend, actually, if Jim remembers correctly - brother is in some need of a celebration, or something like that. Tilly didn’t feel any need to expand on it beyond that. Jim figures, why not go out with them? At the very least, he’ll get a free meal about it. Not to mention he’s in quite a good mood with the way that neither Spock nor Christopher walk through the door.

The rest of Jim’s time on the ice is spent working on a combination of footwork, spins, and being part of the joint effort of not colliding with either Spock or Christopher, who decided to grace them with his presence on the ice.

After such glorious times with torturing his body on the ice, Jim joyfully makes his way up to the upper levels of the rink for what is sure to be a splendid time with ballet, where the studio is oh so conveniently situated between another dance room and a gym. The entire building of Starfleet Training Center - really, who names this place? - could single handedly be his torture building if he gave it the opportunity.

Luckily, Jim has a gym membership for somewhere else.

He makes it through the rest of the day on anticipation to go home and talk about the wonderful news of meeting a boy who he’s likely going to be seeing more or less on the regular. However, when he comes home, he finds himself alone, Tilly not having made it back just yet, which leaves him to go to someone else to paint his woes to. The lucky victim today is one newly appointed _Doctor_ Leonard McCoy.

So, there’s a boy..  
oh lord  
im going to call in just a minute dont go blowing up my phone

An unfortunte response given that Jim had already started in typing out what was sure to be some waxing poetics. He can’t even finish deleting it all before his phone is ringing.

“Bones! What a pleasure to have you calling on such a fine evening,” Jim says, enthusiasm not needed to be forced. After all, it is a lot more fun to actually speak about this kind of thing rather than write it all out. Then he gets judged for his inability to type as well as his taste in men.

Bones, for his part, sighs. Jim knows it’s forced, and Bones knows that he knows. It doesn’t ever stop him from doing it. “Who is is he?”

Cutting straight to the chase it seems. Typical Bones. “So, his name is Spock,” Jim starts. “Well, his last is Spock. I don’t actually know if I’d be able to pronounce his first name or not, it sounds Hebrew or something, so maybe, but I don’t actually know. I also don’t even know if it was his first name he told me, or if it was his first and middle name. Or like, two first names. I don’t know. I just know his last name is Spock, and that I know I can pronounce, and that’s how he likes to be addressed so it’s okay.”

“And how did you meet him?” How nice of Bones to help keep him somewhat on track.

“Met him at the rink - he was on my ice time last second. Some new guy to the club that Christopher picked up. It was actually really awkward though, shit, Bones. So I’m getting off the ice, kinda tired, and like, half of my body is bruised-”

“Jesus, you need to be more careful, Jim.”

Rude. “ _Yes_ , Doctor McCoy. Anyways, so I’m going to sit down, in a lot of pain. I still have no idea what he looks like, mind you, all I know is that I think he’s the only Israeli guy who’s got a bowl cut - well, like, Jewish, I guess, he actually sounds like he’s from this area, he just skates for Israel, which isn’t hard - anyways, so, bowl cut. That’s all I really know. And just, Bones, I wasn’t prepared. The guy just sits down next to me all quiet and graceful, which I don’t mind or anything. I look up, and just, bam! Call me a sucker, but I noticed his eyes first. Which, by the way, I could actually get lost in them. I’ve never seen eyes so dark before in my life.”

Admittedly, Jim ends up talking Bones’ ear off. Bones doesn’t seem to mind, something that Jim is eternally grateful for. He’s Jim’s closest friend, having it off immediately after their first unfortunate time of meeting.

Two weeks after moving to San Francisco, and after getting to STC, Jim had been sitting with a small medical team at the rink due to ankle complications, where Bones just so happened to have walked in, seemingly grumpy with his current position. Jim had tried to hit on Bones. Bones had rolled his eyes and told Jim to go find someone who wasn’t in the middle of a divorce and custody battle.

Bones doesn’t have much to say on Spock other than that he thinks he seems like an asshole, which Jim scoffs at. Bones thinks everyone is an asshole when he first hears about them.

They talk for some time after, Bones lamenting about a particular shitty shift that he dealt with. Jim offers a sympathetic ear. When they hang up, it’s with a promise that he’ll try to clear up his schedule a little bit so that they can meet up again sometime soon.

When Jim goes to sleep that night, he feels at peace, smiling.  
PART 2  
Choreography in the morning, hell scheduling of actual on-ice work pretty much immediately after lunch, followed by what’s scheduled to be one hour in a dance workshop that actually devolves into thirty minutes of actual dancing and then forty-five minutes of him and four others getting lectured on what’s apparently the worst posture the instructor has ever seen born out of nothing but the sheer laziness of all of them. Blah blah, he tuned him out after the first five minutes of nonsense that just spouted ‘I had a bad day and now you all need to have one too’.

Jim collapses onto the couch when he finally gets back home, earlier than initially scheduled after skipping the gym, but he’s somehow more exhausted mentally than physically, a sign he needed to just leave when he still could. He could probably sleep for the next sixteen hours if given the chance.

He’s not given the chance. Tilly comes home with the reminder that they have plans to go out tonight. A part of Jim wants to pull out last second for an open opportunity to just sleep, but he knows Tilly is counting on him to help it maybe not be so awkward when she meets her girlfriend’s brother for the first time. Meeting the family is always tough, Jim understands that, so he peels himself off of the couch and makes quick work of fixing himself to be more presentable to the public.

Last night, Jim poured his heart and soul out to Bones. Tonight, it’s his turn to listen, Tilly gushing about her girlfriend, Michael, to Jim. He’s met her before, more than once in passing at the rink and competitions. She’s been passed to Christopher a few odd times for special work, but primarily, she skates under the other larger coach at STC, Phillipa Georgiou, as a pairs skater. Tilly also has Phillipa marked as her coach, though her time is a little more evenly split between her and Christopher.

So Jim knows Michael, and Michael knows Jim. He likes to believe they get along when they end up crossing paths, but even if they didn’t, Jim would still be here for Tilly, pulling up to the restaurant in an Uber.

They arrive first, so Tilly grabs their reserved booth for four and the of them sit down, one across from the other in a restaurant that is far more glamorous than he’s ever really been in. Back home, there wasn’t much outside of the way of local diners and two chain restaurants: an Applebee’s and an Olive Garden. Nothing upscale, that’s for sure.

Jim feels a little out of place, he and Tilly ordering waters and telling their waitress that they’re still waiting for two others to arrive. He doesn’t say it to Tilly, of course. She would tell him that it’s okay if he leaves, and may even push him to if it’d make him more comfortable. She’s a sweet girl, but a little bit too much of a people pleaser.

Jim sees Michael first, a beacon in the darker lighting with a bright yellow sundress that’s enough for Jim to see exactly what had Tilly head over heels in the first place. He waves her over, and Tilly stands with a beaming smile that makes Jim want to pull Michael aside one day and give her a warning he remembers his dad giving to his own first boyfriend because he never wants to see that smile break.

To give them the slightest bit of privacy, Jim pulls out his phone, checking for messages. When they sit down, he looks up to the side awkwardly, ready for Michael’s brother to properly trap him into the seat, and his heart just about stops, eyes going wide. Because standing there is Spock, which is a little bit of a curveball for him

S’chn T’gai Spock is the younger brother of Michael Burnham, and he is now sitting down next to him at some arguably fancy restaurant in a rather dapper - yes, dapper - deep blue button down shirt and nice black pants that are way too fitting and scream money, a far cry from the slightly worn down exercise clothes he was wearing yesterday. And here Jim sits in a hastily tucked pastel floral shirt with khakis.

It’s not fair.

Only propriety keeps Jim from reaching for his phone to let Bones know about how awful this situation is. Instead, he scoots a little closer to the wall before nodding to Spock, who takes a seat next to just, just as graceful as he did yesterday.

“Jim, this is my little brother, Spock,” Michael introduces. Jim shouldn’t be so shocked. Where there’s one skater in the family, there tends to be another, whether it be a sibling or a child. Generally a sibling if one exists. “Spock, this is Tilly’s roommate, Jim. He’s also a skater, went to Worlds the past years.”

“Yes, I am aware.” Spock beats Jim to talking, just as he’s opening his mouth. “We met yesterday morning.”

Yes, yes they did. “Well, it’s fancy meeting you here, isn’t it Spock?” Play it cool, Jim, play it cool. Part of him wants to ask if Spock comes here often; thankfully, another, smarter part of him tells him to not do that. Instead, he turns back to Tilly and Michael, ignoring the way that his stomach is currently doing backflips. “Christopher had him with me early in the morning. Today I was on too much of a crazy schedule to catch him, though.”

“Are not the schedules of most days, as you put it, crazy?” Oh man, if Jim tells Bones about this, the man will for sure solidify his thoughts on Spock being an asshole. Fortunately, Jim doesn’t hold the sentiment. The response is just unintentionally stupid enough that make Jim’s heart flutter.

Michael’s smile seems to strain at the response, eyes flicking to Jim, her posture only softening when he shrugs at her.

“You got me there,” Jim says after a moment, turning back to Spock with what he hopes is a winning smile. “Nothing like the mornings I get to wake up at four in the morning just to bust my body on the ice because I’m too tired to really function.”

And Jim can see that Spock is holding back a response, and when he turns his head forward, almost pointedly not looking at Jim, his smile drops a little. Okay. So, this really isn’t working out, is it. Really unfortunate considering that his heart hasn’t actually slowed down once since Spock sat next to him - it’s a lot different sitting next to him in a booth rather than in some stands right off of the ice.

Not to mention that Spock really does have a different charm about him when not completely covered in swear. Charm. Well, he may actually have no charm about him - no tact at the very least. But, that’s also part of the charm for Jim.

Dinner is more than an awkward affair. As it turns out, the wonderful celebration at hand is Spock transferring to STC and switching coaches to Christopher Pike. Spock finds the celebration illogical, saying the only time anything should be done in positive reaction to the change is if he has shown significant improvement in his skill, to which Michael told him to just appreciate some nice things and that she’s sure he will do just fine. Most of dinner is spent with such arguments between the two - not even arguments, Jim recognizes the bickering from how he and Sam used to be when they talked - Michael more often than not turning to talk to Tilly, and Tilly only sometimes going to address Jim. And Jim does his best to not intervene in anything.

It’s absolutely a splendid affair, followed by desert so sweet that Jim has issues eating more than two bites before he wants to set it down. The only thing that allows him to power through half of it is that he doesn’t want to be wasting another person’s money on food he couldn’t even stomach, not that, based on both Spock and Michael’s dress, they can’t more than afford it.

It takes Jim going back into his room to realize he didn’t speak once to Spock past when he and Michael first arrived, and suddenly the entire night becomes a little more shitty. He debates pulling out his phone to text Bones so that he has someone to talk to, but it’s probably a little late. Knowing Bones, he has some hell shift that actually starts at three in the morning or some shit like that because he enjoys working in the ER more than any man has a right to.

Which means Jim is left a little to himself to turn over the stones of Spock. He sure isn’t about to tell Tilly that he may think her girlfriend’s younger brother is cute, but oh yeah, he doesn’t really want to talk to him, why is that? Again, she’s a people pleaser. She may go to Michael about it in some attempt at subtlety, and then Jim will be even more embarrassed when Michael inevitably would find out.

Nope. Jim is going to sit with himself on his two day crush and figure out why the hell Spock doesn’t seem even remotely interested in Jim. Sure, they’ve only ever actually interacted twice, but Jim couldn’t even keep small talk with him.

Come an annoyingly loud alarm at 5:30AM, Jim has gotten maybe four hours of sleep if he’s lucky, which gives him the gift of a brain fog that a cold shower and excessive amounts of coffee aren’t clearing.

He powers through it. In two days, it will be Thursday, meaning that Jim will finally have a day off, also known as a period he can hopefully spend some quality time with Bones to break the cycle of bouncing between the rink, a gym, and his apartment. 

At seven, he has a fitting for his new costumes, which means breakfast is going to be a little later than normal, pushing just about everything back further than normal. At least this time, having it early in the morning means he can actually feel his body and move for the lady instead of standing about limp as a wet noodle like last time when he had the genius idea to wait until the end of the day. Jim has no issues with being poked and prodded, but even he gets a little uncomfortable realizing that he needs help just spreading his legs so that an accurate measurement of his thighs could be taken.

By eight, he’s tying his shoes tight in the upper levels of the building, too tired to leave for another gym. It means he’s sharing the room with three other skaters and under the mild scrutiny of club-hired personal trainers that don’t belong to him, but still feel the need to comment on what he’s doing because he just happens to be in the room with them. He deals with it. There’s not much critique that they can give on his stretching and running anymore.

Come nine-thirty, he’s already ready to sit down and go back to sleep, so he finds the single place in the building that will always have easy access to coffee for him: Christopher’s office, which he barely keeps locked if he’s around somewhere. He is if the way the knob turns to Jim is any indication.

Ten o’clock brings the hell of part two of yesterday’s dance workshop. At least this time, the instructor doesn’t seem to be trying to gain the award for longest and most inane lecture on issues that don’t exist, which means that when noon arrives, Jim isn’t in too bad of a mood. Still tired, but his day isn’t ruined.

Jim sits down at a table overlooking the west end rink, watching none other than Micheal down on the ice with her partner. For her part, she doesn’t seem to have woken up so troubled after their dinner, something he’s sure her partner is happy with. Jim knows Ash Tyler even less than Michael, but from what he does know, Ash is passionate about skating - a little more than just about anybody else in the club, which is a feat considering it’s filled with people dedicating their entire lives to the sport. He’s actually a nice enough guy beyond that, but that doesn’t mean Jim thinks he’d be the most thrilled to find his partner half asleep on the ice with him. That’d surely make for some interesting throws.

After a few minutes, his stomach reminds him just what he’s doing here, and Jim reaches for the sandwich sitting in front of him, eyes still trained to the glass and what’s beyond it.

Both Ash and Michael are getting a little older, a point argued to be both their prime and past their prime based on who’s being asked. Jim likes to think it’s the former. The past three years they’ve been cycling between positions on the international podiums, just barely missing gold at the Olympics a year back. Now, they look as good as ever, working in a unique synch reserved for skating pairs like this.

So caught up in it as he is, Jim misses the way someone slides down to sit two feet away from him until he turns his head to the right just the slightest to keep track of the two on the ice, when he catches the form of someone else next to him. Instead of continuing to follow Michael and Ash below, he turns his head a little farther and seen Spock sitting there, silent. He has what looks like soup in front of him, but he’s not eating it. Instead, his eyes are trained on the glass just as Jim’s were a few moments ago.

Jim debates talking to him, but his minimal past experience tells him that that will get him absolutely nowhere. Or, that’s what he says to himself. In actuality, it’s more along the lines of his brain is so scattered he can’t think well enough to figure anything to say. So, he continues eating, every now and then looking over to see the way that Spock seems to be absolutely entranced with the two below. Right as he’s standing to leave, he finally catches Spock looking back at him. Jim nods at him. Spock nods back after a second.

As he walks away, back to the glass and Spock, Jim is smiling largely. Score one for James T. Kirk.

Half an hour after one, Jim is tying his skates tight onto his feet. Despite his tiredness, he functions better than he expects, following choreography well enough and only managing to fall once when he goes for what’s to become a newly integrated quad salchow with a few partial runthroughs of his short program.

The next day is much the same, barring any interactions with people trying to take his body measurements. Instead of Michael and Ash at lunch, he finds himself watching Nyota down on the ice, running through her new programs. Spock sits next to him again, and this time, Jim smiles when he nods to Spock. While the smile isn’t returned, he’s still given a head nod, which is maybe the most he can ask for at the time.

That night, he ends up with Bones, the two sharing comfortable companionship in each other, sitting and watching shitty movies with even shittier food in front of them until they’re both asleep on Bones’ bed, TV still on, bright with the loading screen of a movie, Jim having steered clear of the subject of Spock. No need to tell his best friend that he thinks he’s maybe making process with the boy he likes because, oh, well, they nod their heads at each other. 

Thursday, Bones drags Jim out to an actual movie that teaches Jim that theaters do indeed having 10:30AM showings. Because Jim likes to pretend he’s classy, he uses some of his extra money to take them out for sushi afterwards, which is followed by going out to the beach where they sit and watch the water around them for a good couple of hours, just enjoying the calmness of each other’s company, Jim using Bones as a pillow as punishment for dragging him out of bed so early on a day off.

They have a light dinner scraped together by what Bones has managed to keep stocked in his fridge before Jim makes his leave back home. Bones has work at six. Jim needs to make sure he actually gets enough sleep tonight so that he doesn’t keel over tomorrow.

For the three days that follow, in between Jim’s more hectic schedule, he continues to see Spock sitting the same approximate two feet away from him when he takes a break for lunch, watching others in the club piecing together their new programs. At the end of each time, Jim will nod his head, and Spock will nod bad, no words exchanged. It shouldn’t continue to make Jim’s heart speed up the way it does.

On the fourth day, Spock isn’t there. Jim can’t help the drop of disappointed when, after thirty minutes of watching and eating, nobody comes to sit next to him. He almost thinks to message Tilly, but decides he’s better off calling an end his lunch a little early and getting back to work.

Jim doesn’t end up passing Spock for the rest of the day either. Normally, it’s not something that’d be disappointing with the way that their schedules don’t do much to cross over, however today, the lack of Spock at lunch leaves his hopelessly wishing that, somewhere, Spock would make his quiet entrance and tie Jim’s tongue up enough that all he can do is nod his head.

The next day, when Christopher asks when Jim would like to do a little solo work on his programs, Jim says around noon, to fit it into when his normal lunch is.

Much to the express distaste of about half of the people he regularly shares the ice with, it only takes a few minutes after stepping onto the ice before he’s situated for Carmen to start blaring through the speakers. At least it’s not Phantom, he thinks, as the all too familiar sounds of a song sure to haunt him for years to come rings through his very being. He still can’t touch Phantom with a ten foot pole after an admittedly disastrous junior season when he was sixteen.

Jim’s movements are still more clumsy than he’s like around the choreography. Christopher tells him so - unnecessary if you ask Jim. He knows it’s rough. That’s what the point of this time here: to figure out where he needs to focus his time in fine tuning things before competitions start.

They spend eight minutes talking about what Jim has down well and where improvements are needed, and then five more minutes in a semi-argument over the jump layout of his free skate. Again. Ultimately Jim wants three quads, one in combination. Christopher thinks he should only do one. It ends with Christopher giving Jim now to prove he can handle such a jump load.

Jim makes a few more laps around the rink, practicing jump entrances and building up speed as the lone person on the ice. He looks up once, eyes moving almost instinctually to find where the upper window to the rink is to see just who’s watching, and he almost trips over his pick when he catches sight of Spock standing, looking down at him. For the briefest moment, Christopher isn’t paying attention, so Jim waves up, this time allowing an overly large smile to stretch across his face.

Spock nods his head down once. Jim turns away before he can see him lift it back up.

Spock watching doesn’t make things any different. Maybe it makes things a little different, but not in such a terrible way. Sure, there’s no added pressure in know some cute boy that he kind of has a crush on is now watching him skate, but it’s not like a whole crowd of people plus cameras to make him so psyched out that he he can’t even get through a single jump without landing flat on his out without passing go and collecting his two-hundred, thank you very much. No. Spock watching is, if anything, a motivating factor, a reason to show off a little bit more than usual.

The opening sequence to a piano rendition of Passion brings him into action. There’s more emotion to be placed into this than Carmen, breaking through some reserve that he gives in these earlier run throughs with the idea of impressing someone specific, someone new.

Jim has no idea if Spock turned away to sit and watch, or if he’s still standing there, eyes trained on Jim. Jim skates as if Spock is there, moving fluidly across the ice, improvising when he forgets something and jumping as high as he can, making rotations, refusing to slip up. He’s exhausted by the end of the program, falling down and letting his back hit the ice below. But he did it; he landed all his quads, all of his other jumps, kept to the program as much as he could with only a brief lapse in the step sequence.

“Apparently I need to threaten you more often, Jimmy,” Christopher says after Jim’s had a moment to catch his breath.

Jim doesn’t offer any verbal response, content to continue laying on the ice and panting, but he gives out a thumbs up. Good enough response as any, really. He’s not going to tell Christopher that he was only trying to impress the new boy because he thinks he’s cute. Let him think that a good threat will kick his ass into gear and not just generally make him act like a petulant child. Sometimes, less is more on those kind of thing.

Eventually a bell rings signally that Jim’s time here is up. Standing back up is easy enough, moving not so much. It’s slow progress to the edge of the ice, tiredness having seeped into his body with the cold trough his clothes. He meets Christopher at the edge and claps hands with the man, triumphant.

“Get your short program up to that level and you’ll really have yourself in the running this season,” Christopher tells him, helping Jim off the ice. Only as long as he can keep a steady quad sal, which shouldn’t be the most difficult if he keeps on top of practice. No slacking. They’re all unspoken words between the two.

Jim heads for the locker room immediately, sure that he can’t smell very pleasant with the way that his entire body seemed to be covered in perspiration before he had time to cool off. He wants to rinse off and get new, dry clothes.

He passes a kid that’s been at the club longer than him - Pavel if he remembers correctly, some Russian kid who’s about fifteen now - neither speaking, only bried eye contace made before they go about their opposite ways. Jim remembers being that age, feeling almost on top of the world with how he was still making quick advancements in skating skills, and how one year later he hit such a stagnant spot that he ended up with a nasty concussion trying to do things that he couldn’t in frustration.

Never again will Jim skate to Phantom of the Opera.

Cold showers go surprisingly well with a body tired from work on the ice, clearing his mind and allowing simple reflection on how everything felt to himself. He feels better with his free skate than his short, but he doesn’t want to pull out of the program this late. It’s July, the time for people to be announcing what they’re doing, not making a last second switch that’ll only make him feel even more awkward on the ice.

Solution: more on-ice work and more time alone in a dance room. He can get it down with enough work. The feeling of Carmen is vastly different to that which Passion is looking for in a program, but he picked his poison. Now it’s time for him to take it.

The rest of the day goes by without incident, Jim leaving to drop his skate off for sharpening before heading out to a gym separate from the club. While there’s more people there, it offers more privacy in the way that people don’t approach him on anything, the staff there meant to keep the place running rather than give input where it’s not wanted.

When Jim’s back home at the apartment, the lights are already turned on. Walking further in, he sees Michael and Tilly sitting at the counter engaged in some conversation, deep enough they aren’t turning for him. While he’s hungry, he’s not hungry enough to disturb them, so he walks back to his room quietly, trying to stay out of their way and give them their space. He has some small protein bars tucked away in a bedside table anyways, they can tide him over.

He stays in his room for a little bit, letting his small attention span be captured by his phone, scrolling mindlessly through things he’ll forget the moment his eyes leave the screen. A simple passing of time accompanied with eating half of some granola chocolate bar before he realizes he isn’t in the mood for chocolate.

Everything in his damn drawer is chocolate something. Why does he do this to himself?

Jim gets off of his bed with a huff, letting his phone drop to the matress. With hopes of Tilly and Michael having either moved from the kitchen or just not looking to be in such a serious discussion, he wanders out of his room, food on the forefront of his mind.

And it stays there for a good amount of time considering that Jim really does have the attention span of a goldfish. He only sees one person sitting at the counter now, which means that Michael and Tilly have moved on to somewhere else, leaving guilt free access to the fridge. He has one door open most of the way, eyes already scanning for food before the processing part of his bain decides to tell him that there’s somebody who isn’t Michael or Tilly sitting a few feet away from him.

In Jim’s mind, the way he turns in comedially slow, anticipation to see just who’s sitting their kitchen alongside some background music. In reality, he knew who was there, and perhaps turned a little too fast with wide eyes to take in the sight of Spock sitting at his kitchen.

What the fuck.

He makes eye contact for a quick moment, Spock breaking it as soon as it’s made, eyes darting away to the side. _Spock_ , who is sitting in one of his chairs, the one he actually tends to sit at. While Spock is looking away, Jim stares. He doesn’t know what else to do, unsure of how he’s feeling - a part of him wants to feel like he’s having his space invaded, but he thinks that maybe requires him to be having outwardly adverse to feelings to the company. That’s not the case, he’s mostly just confused.

Jim blinks. Spock blinks.

His mind is running absolutely blank. What’s new with that; it seems to be Jim’s newest favourite activity to sit around stupidly whenever Spock is around. Is he supposed to say hello? Show him around? Jim doesn’t even know how long Spock has been here, if Tilly or Michael had already shown him the necessities of visiting a place.

Not that it matters. All Jim can figure out how to do is stare.

“Oh shit, you’re home earlier than I thought you’d be.” Jim’s trance is broken as he turns to look at where Tilly is standing in the hallway, Michael right behind her. “They were just about to leave, sorry.”

Finally, Jim’s mind catches up with him. “No, no, it’s fine, Tilly,” Jim says quickly. “You live here too, you know, you can have people over. It’s not like you’re bringing over my arch nemesis or something.”

“Michael nudges Tilly, causing her to move forwards, Michael follow, still at her back. “Well, I don’t so much about that, Jim,” Michael teases, the friendliness in her tone confirming that she does indeed more than just tolerate him - he hopes, at least, or else she’s really good at acting. “Spock’s the new guy at the rink, he may just be there to grab your spot there, isn’t that right, gremlin?” Her eyes flick over to Spock on the last part, causing Jim to follow her gaze.

Spock, for his part, looks almost akin to a deer caught in the headlights after being directly spoken to, frozen, eyes slightly widened. “I… Michael, I don’t see how I could go about taking Jim’s spot when “spots” are not assigned to people. We do not even skate under the same flag. There is no place of his that I could take.” The words come out slow, sounding unsure.

Another time, Jim would analyze such a thing. This time, he’s too caught up on that being the most he’s ever heard Spock talk at once. Spock’s voice is smoother than Jim remembers, even as it gets caught up on the hesitency in his response. Jim wants to hear more of it; really disappointing with the way Jim can’t seem to figure out how to speak to him after two disatrous meetings.

“Sounds like something someone trying to take his spot would say,” Michael counters, breaking away from Tilly to go by Spock, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Be careful three, gremlin. I don’t need you to go causing my girlfriend’s roommate emotional distress.”

Too late on that.

“I fail to see how I could be in any position to cause Jim any emotional distress,” Spock argues. Well, it doesn’t matter whether or not Spock sees how he could be doing anything because, surprise, he already has. Jim’s hopeless romantic heart has been thoroughly stolen by the guy. “Our schedules barely allow us any interactions from a day to day basis.”

Yes, and that’s a tragedy. Or maybe a blessing. Jim isn’t sure just how productive he would be if he was given even more opportunity to be distracted by Spock.

“Uh-huh,” Michal hums, pushing Spock just the slightest. “Well, just be careful. And let’s start that by taking our leave now. C’mon kiddo.”

Spock rises under her touch, which draws Jim to think that, wow, literally everything that Spock does is gracefully, including the way he stands up out of tall chairs. Absolutely unfair. Jim watches the two go to the door, not leaving his own spot, eyes once again trained on Spock. Honestly, with the way he walks, it looks more like he’s gliding just above the ground.

Once at the door, Michael turns around back around, offering a small wave. “Gooybye, Tilly. Bye, Jim. Thanks for having us.” Jim waits for Spock to also say goodbye, but it never comes. Instead, Spock reaches for the doorknob, leading Michael out of the room.

As soon as the door is shut again, Tilly is on Jim, a smile he wants to describe as evil on her face. “You didn’t tell me that you like Spock.” The words are casual enough, but he still doesn’t trust that look.

“I- okay, he’s a little cute, but that’s pretty much it.” A lie. It’s more than pretty much that. “Besides, it’s not like I really seem to vibe with him anyways. He hasn’t exactly been too keen to talk with me just about ever.”

“Michael tells me that he’s just like that,” Tilly says, leaning in close. “I asked her about it, after the dinner we had a few nights ago. I felt a little awkward because he didn’t really once talk to me, so I thought, wow, he hates me. Turns out, nope! He has absolutely nothing against me, and that he actually likes me, according to Michael. He’s just a little bit more on the quiet side.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyways,” Jim sas, turning around to stare at the fridge. “I’m already moving past it. You know how I am. I get a thing for some boy I see in passing and it lasts for like, a week, before I’m moving on.”

“The face you were giving him wasn’t one of someone moving on.”

“Well, can I argue that, yes, it was?”

“Jim, I may have only known you for a year, but in that year, we have been living together. I know what your moving on face is, and that was not it.” Damn it. He really was failing in the whole mission of keeping his feelings for Michael’s brother a secret. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

Wait. “About what?” Jim asks.

“About your feelings, dumbass,” Tilly says matter of factly.

Given the nature of Spock’s pretty obvious disinterest in Jim beyond watching skaters during lunch, Jim answers with a, “Nothing.”

“James Tiberius Kirk-” Oh lord, she’s using his full name, “-you better not be telling me that you plan on just sitting about and sulking over some boy that you didn’t even take a chance with.”

“I’m not sulking, so no, that’s not not-”

“I can see sulking in your future-”

“You can see _nothing_ because I’m not going to sulk over your girlfriend’s little brother who doesn’t even want to talk to me.” There’s something in the way Tilly looks at him that makes Jim feel lile he just said something wrong. The feeling is only amplified by the way she doesn’t give him a verbal response, only shrugging her shoulders and walking away.

He really doesn’t like that. At all.  
PART 3  
July comes to a close in a whirlwind of activity, programs that won’t be used on a large scale for yet another month or so having their polishing touches put on them, the finalization process a long and grueling one. Just about anyone passed by within the walls of STC is exhausted at any given moment.

The only small breaks Jim gets within the days are lunches, which keep getting cut short by some difficulty or another either with himself or others. Most days he actually gets to sit down for it, he still sees Spock. They continue their silent companionship, Jim not wanting to break the silence that gives him some semblence of hope that Spock doesn’t totally hate his guts.

His day-to-day life takes to revolving a gross amount around skating in everything he does - how much he sleeps, what he eats, that he doesn’t partake in any drinking the two times he’s able to spend some time with Bones, everything. He even makes sure to avoid too much strenuous activities on the free time that he does have, lest he risk even pulling something.

Tilly asking if Jim wants to see a movie Saturday afternoon with a few other people is exactly the type of thing that Jim needs to jump on, just to get out and about. He doesn’t think much about it beyond making sure everyone is aware he’s going home at noon Saturday and not coming in Sunday. Hell, he’s tempted to call off part of Monday too, but that’s asking a little bit too much with the way he’s been asked to fill in with the younger kids lately.

Jim doesn’t eat lunch at the rink Saturday. The longer he stays there, the more opportunity there is for someone to suddenly pull him aside in need of something. He takes the first bus back to his apartment, where he then sits down on the couch, turns on the TV, and has what may be the best grilled cheese that he’s ever had.

Tilly comes home somewhere around two, obviously excited. Her mood is refreshing, bring about an air that even Jim can get up on, his already good mood being boosted. It’s a far contrast to the general worn out and anxious feeling that’s been lingering about, reminds Jim that breaks are important.

They leave at three for their four o’clock movie knowing better than to trust the buses to be on an exact schedule. As such, they arrive a little early. Tilly buys the tickets with the spare time, and when she’s finally past the line, Jim can see on the horizan just who they’re seeing a movie with.

“Really, Tilly?” Jim asks, bumping his shoulder into hers. “I like Michael, a lot, but was it necessary for Spock to come as well?”

“Yes, it was. He’s Michael’s brother and they live together. If I’m inviting Michael out for a movie, I want him to come along with as well. It’s polite.” Jim knows it’s polite. He also has a feeling that this is just Tilly’s way of roping him into spending extra time with Spock.

Jim greets Michael and Spock and with a big smile, which is returned by Michael, but met with silence on Spock’s end. A part of it hurts. He knows Spock is, well, quiet, but after about of month of the two of them sharing a space on break, Spock still doesn’t return a smile. Jim isn’t even sure if he can call the other man his friend.

Nevertheless, he leads them all inside, letting Tilly and Michael hang back behind him. There’s obvious space for Spock to join him upfront, but it’s never filled.

The perfect solution is for Jim to drown his woes in too buttery popcorn and a too sweet Icee that’s going to give him a headache later, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe then he won’t think about how it hurts seeing that Spock pays him no mind when he’s not in a space where he’s expected to act cordially with him.

Jim gets a little caught up in his thoughts, and when Michael and Tilly get to the front to find the theater their movie is in, Jim is more than happy to just trail behind them. It’s not until he’s sitting down in the seats, Tilly on his left, Spock going to sit down on his right, and he whips his head to give Tilly a wide-eyed look. The response that he gets from both her _and_ Michael is enough to let him know that he’s doomed.

Tilly told Michael who knows how long ago, and now Michael is also in on this game. Fuck.

A rather obnoxiously loud sound that acts as the start of the always present “no phones and no talking” pre-preview section makes Jim jump, catching him off guard. Which wouldn’t have happened if he was just looking ahead like he supposed he’s supposed to in a theater. With a small smile, he twists himself back around to look at the screen, watching the familiar animations go through.

All he has to do is watch the movie. It’s some sci-fi action movie, which Jim likes, so it shouldn’t be difficult to ignore the fact that Spock is sitting close to him in the dark movie theater. It’s not like Tilly isn’t also sitting next to him, so there’s no need for him to get caught up on who’s on the right. He needs to just watch the movie.

Just watching the movie is really difficult when an hour in, Spock is passed out next to him, his head leaning dangerously close to Jim’s shoulder. It’s an obvious sign that the universe, in fact, just hates him. Even when he sips a little too loud at his almost drained Icee, Spock doesn’t budge. Actually, Jim thinks he may see him lean just a little bit closer to him. How perfectly quaint. He’s never known a movie to be such torture.

Thirty minutes before the movie is supposed to end, Spock’s head finally makes contact with Jim, causing him to freeze in his seat. On one hand, there’s nothing worse that can happen today. Jim really can’t find something to top having an unrequited crush’s head resting gently on his shoulder. This really is some new kind of hell invented to just torture him. The saddest part is that he has no idea what it was that he did to deserve this.

Jim doesn’t know what else to do than sit there and accept his fate. When the credits start rolling and the lights brighten just the slightest, Jim clenches his eyes shut tight. He’s going to have to move. Spock is going to have to wake up. He wonders if there’s any way to avoid literally anybody but him from knowing this ever happened.

The camera being held in front of him is a big fat no.

Jim gives Tilly the most pained face he can, wondering just how he’s supposed to get out of this before Spock wakes up from all of the movement around them as people get up to leave.

Michael acts as a saving grace, a twsited smile on her face as she tries and fails to contain her amusement at the situation. “He’s a pretty deep sleeper, I can push him off of you if you’d like.” Jim nods slowly, doing his hardest to not bump his head against Spock. In one move, she brings a hand down onto Spock’s head and nudges him to the right, allowing Jim to stand up quick.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, looking down to catch Spock slowly waking up.

“No problem, man. He has a tendency to try and cuddle in his sleep, this kind of thing can happen.” Jim wants to retract his thank you. ‘This kind of thing can happen’, Michael knew this would happen. There’s no way that she and Tilly didn’t have this planned out as some sick scheme to make Jim’s life a living hell. He took time off for this. Unfair.

Spock looks ruffled as he stands, but doesn’t seem to shy away from Jim anymore than usual, so he supposes that Spock isn’t aware of what happened.

The sunlight hurts Jim’s eyes, so he hangs back in the shade as Michael and Tilly stand a few feet off the side of the building, Spock with them, discussing further plans because now Tilly says it’d be nice for them to all go out and get dinner together since it’s not past six and they’re already out. Jim likes the idea of just standing in the shade and letting them go off to dinner, taking their evil plotting with them.

Sadly, he’s not one to pass up on a free meal. Once again, he’s drawn into dinner plans with Michael and her brother. At least this time, he knows what he’s getting into.

Michael drives, making it easy to get to a small, local seafood restaurant right off of the water. Jim’s been here once before. While it’s not fancy in any way, he has to admit it has good food.

They sit outside, Michael and Tilly on one side of a table, Spock sitting next to Jim on the other. Michael and Tilly make their own conversation looking at the menu, pointing a few times at things and somehow ending up talking about the one time Michael went deep sea fishing and how there’s a reason she never did it again. Meanwhile, Spock sits stiffly in his chair, looking out at the water beside them.

Never before has Jim actually seen Spock this stiff, always seeming loose in his body, even when holding posture. It makes him wonder if perhaps Spock is aware of what happened at the movie, but is just to embarrassed to say something about it. But, on the off chance that he doesn’t know, and that he’s just tense about something else, Jim doesn’t bring it up. For all he knows, it’s in relation to the stress of the time of year. Jim knows that he’d be tense a lot more if his muscles weren’t about ready to give out a good portion of the time that he gets to sit down.

It’s not until after they order that, for what is perhaps the first time Jim cant recount, Spock speaks to him. First. “How has your day been, Jim?” The words sound awkward, practiced yet obviously not used often. It’s enough to make the smallest smile tilt Jim’s lips up.

“I got to cut my day at the rink short, see a movie, and now get to go out to eat. Today has been pretty good, Spock,” Jim answers, almost truthfully. He doesn’t think he’s going to forget Spock sleeping on his shoulder for a long while. “How about yours?”

“I’ve been very tired today,” Spock says, eyes briefly going to Jim’s before going back away, looking somewhere just past Jim. “However, it is still nice to be able to go out like this with other people.” Ah, with other people. “Actually… I was not too interested in going anywhere today, but Michael said that you would be here, so I found myself not wanting to decline the offer.”

No, don’t say things like that Spock. It’s all Jim can think, his soul perhaps crushing itself right then and there. He knows the words don’t mean what he wants them to, that they had been spending casual time with each other for a month now, of course Spock is used to doing things like eating next to him now, but Jim can’t help the way his face heats up the slightest bit, eyes flickering down.

“Thank you, I think.” Jim isn’t entirely sure what it is he’s supposed to say to something like that. Obviously not, ‘hey, I’ve thought you were cute since the first time we met, but I also have been unsure about how much you really liked me until you said that, and now I think I can maybe call you my friend, but also, you’re still really cute and you make my heart race’, even though that’s really what he wants to say. Honesty is always the easiest way to go, but alas, propriety must be kept.

Now that things are both more and less awkward, Jim looks back to Tilly and Michael to see if they may save him, but both of them are giving him an annoying look that’s some mix of happiness and accomplishment. Quite unhelpful in the situation.

Even more unhelpful is that when they do finally say something to him, it’s to ask if he’d be okay with Michael and Spock coming over after dinner. A part of him wants to run away, to say no, but the only reason for that is because his heart is already all twisted up from today. In the end, what’s a little bit more going to do? He says yes.

Spock keeps minimal conversation with Jim, but it feels like so much when compared with the past. He asks Jim about how his programs are coming along, the ten year old Jim has all but taken over with teaching on her Tuesday lessons during a club held summer camp, small things that Jim didn’t even know that Spock knew about. Jim tries his best to return the questions, mirroring inquiries on programs and asking about if Spock has been dragged into the hectic mess of activities July brings.

When they’re paying the bill, Jim actually feels a little lost, not wanting to leave this place and moment. The only thing that keeps him from attempting to prolong everything is the knowledge they’re all going back to the apartment. He still has time to spend with Spock with the added benefit of knowing Tilly and Michael also get to spend more time together.

The four of them sit around out in the small living room, dragging an extra chair in so that everybody has a place to sit without having squish against other people, and they all talk about where they are at with life in general, Spock remaining the quietest, unsure of what else to say other than that he’s still waiting to see where he is with life, the adjustment period from switching rinks and living situations - because Spock not only switched rinks, he had moved in with Michael to be within San Francisco city limits for a better commute - not quite having reached an end yet.

When it becomes apparent in the lull of talk that the evening is coming to a close, Michael leans in close to Spock and says something that makes his eyes go wide, conflict clearly crossing his face. They talk back and forth a few times, too quiet to be heard by anybody else. In the end, Spock looks flustered, eyes moving rapidly across the room like he’s trying to find something to concentrate on. Perhaps Michael had pointed out something in the apartment…?

Finally, Spock’s eyes lock onto something, but only for a small moment before his eyes land on Jim. “Jim, I apologize in the way that I didn’t really allow us to ever talk before today. Sometimes, I have issues expressing myself and communicating. I know that it can make people think I don’t like them, but we’ve been eating lunch together for quite some time now, so I think that at least I didn’t give off that impression.”

Oh. An apology, and somewhere Jim isn’t wholly sure is necessary. “Hey, it’s not a problem Spock. Honestly, having quiet lunches with you can be great, no need to really chat it up.”

“I-” Spock closes his mouth quickly, turning to Michael and nudging her side. She gives his a soft smile before standing up and grabbing Tilly, taking them to what looks like her room. “I’m really not good at this. Like I said, I struggle with expressing myself, and that includes expressing my feelings. I want you to know that I genuinely did enjoy today, and it is directly because of your presence here in it. When I didn’t see you at lunch again, I was a little disappointed, and then I remembered we were going out, and it was all okay again.”

“I enjoyed today as well, Spock,” Jim smiles, gently. Inside, he’s a little giddy. This is double confirmation that Spock doesn’t hate him.

Spock’s eyes go wide at the comment, and he looks like he just wants to get up and leave, but he stays still, looking back at Jim. “I’m trying to say that I enjoyed today more than just something normal like us eating together. Mostly because I think I like you as more than just someone to eat lunch with - more than just a friend.” Oh. Well, now Jim’s heart is suddenly racing. “I’ve felt this way for some time now, I think, but I wasn’t really sure what they were. I asked Michael about it, and she said that it sounded like I had a crush on you. Crushes fade. This didn’t.”

This didn’t. This, meaning now, currently, Spock is feeling something. “I don’t know what to really say, Spock, other than that I know for sure that I like you. A lot. More than just friends, I know that.”

“Oh.” It’s so simply, both breaking Jim’s heart and putting it back together. “That’s good, I think. I like you a lot as well. More than just friends.” More than just friends. Well, that’s good. Jim sure thinks that’s good. He likes a boy, and the boy likes him back. That’s more than he’s been able to say for a good couple of years.

Silence stretches between the two for what should be an awkward amount of time. The familiarity of just sitting with Spock, however, fills the space.

“Can I maybe hold your hand?” Spock asks out of absolutely nowhere.

Jim thinks he almost gets whiplash as he stands up so fast. “Yes, of course. If you don’t mind me sitting next to you on the couch.” Spock scoots over a little bit more to the corner patting the seat next to him. Great. “Great.”

Jim sits down slowly, conscious of the space between him and Spock as he grabs the hand that still sits there. And it feels nice in a way that Jim has missed. His past two relationships weren’t to centered around things like hand holding, but this is nice. It’s different, in a good way because Spock asked him specifically if he wanted to hold hands, which was kind of really adorable.

“Also, your shoulder is very comfortable,” Spock says softly.

Jim’s face heats up enough that he knows it goes red, a goofy grin fighting it’s way past any control he has. Yeah, he hopes Spock wants to hold hands often.

**Author's Note:**

> not to ask for a big ol' "please clap", but if you've made it down this far, please hit the kudos button and feel free to leave a comment!


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